He asks me, “How many more years do you think we have left of carving pumpkins? Maybe four, when he’s 14?”. Suddenly I’m snapped back to reality. The kids are growing up and one day they won’t be asking to carve pumpkins anymore. They won’t be looking forward to it, counting down the days and hours until we get to pull the guts out of gourds and create a vision they’ve had in their head of a glowing jack-o-lantern. And I already regret not taking more pictures.
My mind travels to those years ahead and makes me realize each year I question when the last year will be when they’ve outgrown superhero and princess costumes. How much longer until they are considered “too cool” to don a cape or glittering princess gown to tromp through the neighborhood? One day they’ll decide it’s time for more realistic and less cutesy attire and my heart will break a little.
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One day you will no longer make up games in the car; the two of you counting and adding the number of Halloween (or Christmas or whatever season it is) decorations. It won’t make me chuckle to myself as I drive you to school hearing you shout to one another as you add up houses with pumpkins, ghosts and fall wreaths and subtract that amount based on the number of people you see along the way. The silly games your imaginations dream up bring a smile to my face and I make a note to treasure this season as I know it will pass. When it’s gone and you’ve outgrown those “childish” things, will it just feel like an ordinary school day? Will I drive you in a silent car?
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You carry the pumpkins and gourds that we purchased at the farm and begin arranging and displaying them on the porch. After attempting to arrange them myself, I allow you to take control. You have a vision and begin executing your creative direction. It’s an interesting collection and haphazard combinations of sizes on various steps. You’ve each taken great care to place them to your liking. When everything has been set you stand back, beaming with pride, and ask me if I like how it looks. I don’t remember exactly what I say, but something to the effect of “It’s beautiful”. It’s a proud moment for me, because I actually mean what I say. And that’s when I realize I’m able to let go of what others seeing the display will think of my decorating skills, because I also know that one day I won’t have little helpers who have their own ideas about how to make our home beautiful.
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I know one day will come way too soon. I’ve already seen glimmers of things begin to shift and change. This year you’ve decided matching Christmas pajamas are no longer something you want to continue as a tradition and I’ll admit it came as a shock. I figured I had at least a couple more years on that one. So until that day comes, I’ll cook the chili like I do every Halloween, snap the pictures on the front porch, walk you around the neighborhood collecting candy in your adorable, cutesy costumes and tuck these precious memories inside my heart.
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Photos from last year’s pumpkin carving because these were shot on a roll of film that I had developed this spring and the one film photo I took this year won’t be back until this post is long overdue.
